


The Cat

by Delphi



Category: Ristorante Paradiso
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Established Relationship, Multi, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28412742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: “You don’t own a cat, you only feed it.”
Relationships: Gian Luigi "Gigi" Orsini/Lorenzo Orsini/Olga
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	The Cat

“You don’t own a cat, you only feed it.”

His father told him this. The winery has always had a tabby or two volunteering their time to laze in the sun or keep watch over the cellar. Lorenzo remembers chasing after them as a boy, warm earth or cold stone beneath his bare feet. Their quick escapes taught him to be quiet and patient. Their claws taught him to be gentle. 

Owning a cat, keeping a wife, taking a lover—none of them have ever sounded quite right. For Lorenzo, it’s always seemed enough to speak softly and be kind. To build around himself the sorts of places those he likes would like to be. 

Gigi has an apartment in the city. It’s neat and bright, with a view of St. Peter’s Basilica. The kitchen table only seats two, and one of its chairs is always pinned to the wall to make space. Lorenzo has been entrusted with the spare key, which he keeps hidden so Olga doesn’t sneak in to redecorate. He’s never used it uninvited, not even when Gigi was packing for Torino. He wouldn’t still have it if he had.

Living alone, being single. These things are important to Gigi. Lorenzo might not fully understand why, but he doesn’t have to in order to respect them.

And so, the third bedroom at the house isn’t Gigi’s even if he’s the only one who ever sleeps there. It’s styled to Olga’s tastes, with guest towels left in the wardrobe. Gigi comes over once or twice a week, although not reliably enough to make them worry when he doesn’t. Sometimes he accepts a ride after work, or arrives on the last train, walking from the station in good weather. 

There is a part of Lorenzo that is always waiting up. 

An otherwise empty house isn’t enough. Gigi only joins them in their bedroom at night, the door locked and the curtains drawn. He takes off his jacket, his tie, his waistcoat. His clothes are set on the bench at the foot of the bed, everything neatly laid out so that no sock or cuff link is ever left behind for a cleaner to find. His watch goes on the mantel for safekeeping, and so do his glasses.

In the dark, he’s silver and grey. Warm in Lorenzo’s arms. Kissing Olga like it’s the last time he’ll be allowed to.

He’s always out of the house by sunrise, leaving only a gently ransacked refrigerator and the smile on Olga’s lips to prove he was there. Maybe he’ll reappear on the patio later that morning, reading the newspaper. Maybe he’ll be spotted walking between the trellises in the afternoon sun. Or maybe he’ll be gone altogether, for a while. 

But Lorenzo knows that if he makes no sudden movements—if the door is on the latch and the house is quiet, if there’s a jar of good olives and a loaf of good bread—then Gigi will in time come home.


End file.
